


Make Your Good Love Known To Me

by Serendipity_Stupidity



Series: Lost and Found Again [2]
Category: Captain Marvel - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Far too many uses of the word 'fond', Fluff, God someone take commas away from me, Possibly the most domestic thing I shall ever write, love found again, so so so in love it hurts, they're so in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 09:48:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18602047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serendipity_Stupidity/pseuds/Serendipity_Stupidity
Summary: “You remember that?” Maria asks quietly, careful not to startle her out of it - as if the memory might be something fleeting, grasped loosely in her mind, soon to dissipate like smoke.Carol opens her eyes and looks at her, face relaxed and eyes content.“I’ve been remembering a lot of things,” She tells her, cryptically, before reaching forward and brushing her thumb along the curve of Maria’s cheek.[The events that take place after Carol returns. A sequel to Your Love Was Unmoved]





	Make Your Good Love Known To Me

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise for the long wait, I accidentally ended up writing too much. Title is again taken from As It Was by Hozier. This is purely self indulgent. Enjoy.

* * *

The knock resounded throughout the house; a sturdy rap of knuckles on thick oak.

 

Maria looked up from what she was doing in the kitchen, sweeping the remaining diced peppers from the cutting block into the pot over the stove before wiping her hands on a dish towel. She looked up at the clock, and her brow creased at the time.

 

None of her neighbours would be home from work this early - and it was a Wednesday. Who visited someone on a Wednesday?

 

Would Girl Scouts wander this far from the main road to sell cookies? Surely no one was going to tell her about God’s plan for her after what happened last time.

 

She flips the dishtowel over her shoulder, hoping it would sell the authenticity of the “I have to get back to making dinner” excuse.

 

Another knock rings out as she’s making her way over, and she tries not to let irritation show on her face when she reaches for the locks.

 

Maria opens her mouth to greet whoever is at her door, but the sound gets caught somewhere in her throat, trapped like a moth under a glass.

 

“Hi,” Carol says, outlined by sunlight on her porch. The contrast makes her look hazy, sketched in soft lead,detailed in muted watercolours. The light haloed the crown of her head, as though she were a saint, and honestly, Maria thinks she would have preferred the Mormons.

 

At least she’d know what to say to them.

 

“Hi,” It’s incredulous even to her own ears, a tremulous echo rather than a greeting. Her hand aches where it’s gripping the door so hard.

 

The love of her life was standing in her doorway, after 7 months of nothing, and 6 whole years before that, and all she can say is _hi._

 

 _“_ You came back,” She thinks, bewildered - and her stomach drops when she realises she’d said it aloud.

 

Carol laughs - the sound a bell. She is radiant, unchanged, divine in the afternoon light. Maria thinks of the dark shadows under her own eyes, the dull split ends of her hair. _Perhaps it’s for the best you don’t remember loving me._

 

“Am I not allowed to come home?” Her voice is blasé, a grin beneath it, and when she steps forward, Maria unconsciously takes a step back. Carol takes it as an invitation to come inside.

 

Maria feels that old anger find her, eclipsing the feelings of being unbalanced by seeing her after so long.

 

“It’s been _months_ ,” She restrains her voice, keeping it low. Carol turns on her heel to look at her, yet to lose the glint of mischief.

 

“I thought another 6 years would be pushing it,” She counters, trying for joking, but her expression falters when she sees the look on Maria’s face.

 

Maria looks away, realising whatever face she’d made had been enough to shock Carol silent. She clears her throat, tries to regain steady footing, and gestures to the stove in the next room.

 

“I have to get back to making dinner,” The excuse comes on autopilot, and it sounds like something prerecorded on a landline, robotic and impersonal. It’s all she gives as explanationbefore disappearing off into the kitchen. The jambalaya was starting to bubble, so she puts the stove down to a simmer and settles the lid on the pot.

 

She begins tidying things away that didn’t need to be put away, wiping down clean countertops, just so she didn’t have to turn around and face her.

 

She couldn’t do this again. She couldn’t spend her life waiting, not knowing if she would ever return, and then just drop everything when she did. She sure as hell couldn’t pretend it was easy, either.

 

Carol was just stood in the doorway of the kitchen, as if the obstinate line of Maria’s back stoppedher from crossing the threshold. Her shoulders were taut, and she felt the tension of them suffuse into the air around her, swirling with the thick, earthy spices coming from the stove.

 

She felt it change when Carol stepped into the room.

 

“I missed you.”

 

Maria’s hand stops, fingers curled into a tablecloth on the counter. She starts to hear her own heartbeat in her head.

 

“We found a colony on a neutral planet that welcomed the Skrull whilst they look for a home,” Carol tells her, and Maria’s brow creases. “Talos said they’d settled in fine, and had enough resources - so I - he said I could come see you.”

 

Maria finally turns to look at her, leaning up against the counter and crossing her arms over her chest.

 

“So they had enough resources for a whole species, but not you?” She says, just to be difficult.

 

Carol looks a little mystified, but she takes another tentative step into the kitchen.

 

“I didn’t fit in much,” She tries, sheepish, having finally registered that Maria might be mad at her. Maria bites back fondness, reminded of how Carol used to tread softly around her when they argued years ago too.

 

“You don’t much fit in on Earth, either,” Maria levels her with a raised eyebrow, making a pointed glance at Carol’s hands.

 

Her gaze flickers back to her face when Carol takes another step.

 

“I fit in with you,” She ventures, and it sounds just shy of pleading. “And Monica.”

 

Maria feels the last vestiges of anger leave her at that; like a ghost relinquishing it's hold on the living. She never could stay mad at her when she used that voice; when she was looking at her like that. She sighs and lets her crossed arms fall loose.

 

Carol looked pensive after mentioning Monica, as though listening out for any sign of her, and Maria takes pity.

 

“She’s at school,” She tells her, finally allowing her mouth to quirk into a smile. “She should be home soon.”

 

Carol’s eyes brighten, recognising forgiveness in the easy slope of Maria’s shoulders. She walks freely now, over to the island with the sink, pulling herself up to sit on the counter. She takes an apple from the fruit bowl and bites into it with relish, eyes back to their mischievous brilliance.

 

Maria rolls her eyes, throwing the dishtowel at her.

 

“You’ll ruin your appetite,” She admonishes, letting her infer the invitation to dinner.

 

Carol hums a happy noise around her apple, low in her throat. “Smell’s delicious,” She says, smug.

 

Maria shakes her head, fond, and takes a spoon from the drawer to taste-test - content to let Carol entertain herself. Honestly, she should have known better, for soon she was finished with her apple, tossing it it in the bin and hopping down off the counter.

 

Maria felt her presence come up behind her, saw her peeking over her shoulder out of the corner of her eye, and forced herself not to react. She adds in a smattering of cajun, stirring it into the broth, pointedly not paying attention to her.

 

Finally, when Carol’s chin was practically rested on her shoulder, she leans back to give her a look.

 

“Do you mind?” She raises an eyebrow at her, letting the irritation show in her voice.

 

“Is that your grandmother’s recipe?”

 

Maria almost drops the wooden spoon into the broth.

 

Her eyebrows crease, trying to gage Carol’s expression, but she was busy being entranced by the food, eyelashes fluttering closed at the smell.

 

“You...remember that, huh?” Maria asks quietly, careful not to startle her out of it - as if the memory might be something fleeting, grasped loosely in her mind, soon to dissipate like smoke.

 

Carol opens her eyes and looks at her, face relaxed and eyes content.

 

“I’ve been remembering a lot of things,” She tells her, cryptically, before reaching forward and brushing her thumb along the curve of Maria’s cheek.

 

Maria doesn’t move, transfixed. Then, she sees the burnt orange smudge across the pad of Carol’s thumb.

 

“You had paprika on your cheek,” Carol tells her, sounding amused.

 

Maria turns back to the stove, feeling spurned, and Carol circles behind her to lean against the kitchen counter.

 

 _Is she mocking me?_ Maria feels the thought ache somewhere behind her ribs, and chances a look at her under her lashes. _How much did she remember?_

 

“What things?” She asks, giving up the pretense of nonchalance.

 

They always used to play this game, when they first met;getting the other to admit how much they cared. It felt unnatural, being vulnerable in front of someone else - especially in their line of work. Being a woman in the airforce meant sacrifice, stubbornness, good old Southern repression of feelings. Being around that many men meant they had to act like one.

 

It’d taken a couple of years to unlearn that around each other.

 

“I dream of memories,” Carol admits, and it’s unguarded enough to let Maria know that conceding ground had been the right move. Carol rolls down her left sleeve, revealing a mechanical device around her wrist. “I wrote them all down in here. I was thinking, maybe - ”

 

She ducks her head, and Maria recognises it as something she used to do before asking for something she didn’t know if she had the right to ask for.

 

“I was thinking we could read them, and you could tell me - ”Her voice took on that meek quality again, and Maria felt like the constant switching between cocky and cautious would give her whiplash. “You could tell me if they’re real or not.”

 

Maria feels a guilty twinge in her chest at that. 7 months in space, anchorless, dreaming about a life she couldn’t remember. It was difficult realising that none of this was Carol’s fault - she was reckless, sure, and sometimes she’d forget anniversaries, but she’d never been neglectful. She’d not left Maria at the figurative altar; she had been taken, and changed.

 

All she could do was come back to her last point of reference, chart her course from there. She had her walls up because she was in an unknown place, conjured of dreamscapes and hazy flashbacks. Every time she was vulnerable in front of Maria, it was a testament to how much she wanted to trust her.

 

Maria realises she’d been silent for too long, just staring with open hurt on her face. She clears her throat and puts the spoon aside, reaching for the sourdough in the breadbin and a serrated knife from the block.

 

“That sounds like a good idea,” She agrees softly, careful not to startle her by being too emotive about it. She knew being overly emotional in front an emotionally repressed person was like reaching too eagerly towards a skittish animal.

 

There’s a soft silence as Maria cuts the bread, the quiet interspersed between slices of the knife through crust, and it’s repetitive enough that she feels the air shift when Carol steps towards her.

 

“I meant what I said,” Carol tells her, and it’s quietly insistent in a way that makes Maria look up at her. “I missed you. I may not remember everything yet, but I promise - I’m trying - ”

 

She reaches a hand tentatively towards her, and Maria realises immediately that she’d been projecting, _she_ was the skittish animal, thrown off by open declarations of emotion, wary of affection, and if Carol touched her now she didn’t know what would happen, she might even cry -

 

A hollow click echoed down the corridor, fixing them both in place. A voice rang out, oblivious to the narrowly averted disaster in the kitchen.

 

“Mom!” Monica calls from the hallway, having let herself in. “You left the front door open again!”

 

Carol looks uncertainly to Maria, as if asking permission, and Maria nods in the direction of the door, trying not to let anything too telling show on her face. She leaves it a second before following, coming to lean against the doorway to watch Monica’s face light up.

 

She was excitedly calling out Carol’s name, and Maria envied her that easy forgiveness, that uncomplicated joy at her return.

 

She wishes that she and Carol were children with no love lost, that it was all just water under the bridge because nothing else mattered other than the fact that she was finally home.

 

Maria smiled at them both for Monica’s sake, and tried not to focus on the ache when Carol pushed the curls away from her face to kiss her cheeks, not a shred of uneasiness to be found. She wondered if that was something Carol remembered doing, blowing messy raspberries into Monica’s cheeks till she was breathless from laughter.

 

Monica was already chatting away, telling her about everything she’d missed, pulling her by the hand towards the dinner table.

 

When it was just them, Maria would plate dinner up on the small coffee table by the window. The dining room had always felt far too big for just the two of them. Now, Carol was throwing that dynamic off kilter, stirring everything up before she inevitably left again. Maria hated how big the house had felt in the absence of her.

 

She set about plating up dinner to distract herself from thinking too much. She caught the beginnings or the tail end of their conversations, realising Monica was asking how exploring the universe had been, and Maria feels another stab of guilt knowing she hadn’t even thought to ask.

 

She found she almost didn’t want to know; hearing about the endless wonders of space would just reiterate how inadequate they were, down on Earth. How could she possibly hope to compete?

 

Maria sits down, having placed the bread basket between them on the table. She avoids making too much noise, not wanting to stop their conversation.

 

“There’s so many amazing things out there, Trouble,” Carol was telling her, gesturing for emphasis, mouth still full. “Places I’d never been before, the Intelligence never let me stray too far from base - but it’s so big, I could spend my whole life looking and barely scratch the surface.”

 

Monica was listening intently, nodding along as Carol tells her about planets, civilisations, creatures Maria couldn’t even dream up if she tried. Maria feels herself fading it into white noise, absently taking her in, how the afternoon shadows play across her face, the micro shift in expression as she recalls all the things she’d seen.

 

As if feeling her gaze Carol pauses her story telling, looking to Maria as though she’d only just noticed her silence.

 

“Nothing compares to your moms cooking, though,” She says, and her eyes are sincere, speaking to Monica but intending her words for Maria. “Trust me, gastronomy and astronomy do not go well together.”

 

Monica grins when Carol winks at her, amused, and Maria allows herself a small smile, hiding it behind her spoon.

 

“How have you been?” Carols asks, and it takes Maria a moment to realise the question is directed at her.

 

“Me?” She feigns disinterest, thinks, _I’ve been fading, shrinking back into myself, slowly becoming stone_ \- “I’ve been fine. Busy.”

 

“Busy?” Carol prompts, urging more from her.

 

“I fix up old crafts for collectors, mostly. Restorative stuff. Paint jobs.” Maria shrugs, thinking, _why ask me what I do, down here on Earth, I am nothing in the universe, you’ve seen planets with 17 sunsets, I scrap ships for old parts -_ “I’m basically a glorified engineer. When I’m not doing that, I’m in my office.”

 

She focuses back on her food, pushing green peppers around her plate, wary of Carol’s gaze on her.

 

“You fly anymore?”

 

Maria looks up at her, interpreting that to mean, _You any fun anymore?_

 

“No,” She responds, feeling herself close off. “I quit when - ”

 

She bites her tongue, remembering Monica sat to her left. _No being passive aggressive at the dinner table._

 

“I quit a while ago,” She finishes, lamely, and tears off some bread with her teeth just to keep herself quiet.

 

“Do you want to?” Carol asks, at length, with a growing sense of enthusiasm. “Fly again, I mean?”

 

Maria doesn’t respond at first, cautious about the look on her face.

 

“It’s just - I’ve got this ship out back - ”

 

Maria’s expression settles into a look of alarm, leaning back in her chair to look out the window facing the back yard.

 

“It’s cloaked, don’t worry,” Carol is quick to assure her, her tone taking on an appeal. “We could go on a trip for a few days - no one would know.”

 

“As in, in space?” Monica interjects, exhilarated, leaning so far forward in her chair she almost slips out of it.

 

“Yeah!” Carol becomes more animated at the prospect, “I could show you some of the places I’ve been - ”

 

“Monica has school,” Maria interrupts, and the statement seems to ground the room back in reality. “We can’t just drop everything to go into space - not to mention it’s _dangerous_ \- ”

 

“I’d keep you safe,” Carol ascertains, brash and cocksure as always, heedless to the rules, rushing headfirst into whatever she wanted. “I’ll always keep you safe.”

 

“That’s not the _point_ ,” She admonishes, voice firm, and the anger must show on her face, because Carol goes quiet. “I’m not going to put Monica in danger in the first place.”

 

The atmosphere sobers immediately, the otherworldly wonder Carol brought with her doused by Maria’s rationality.

 

“You’re right,” Carol acquiesces, calmly as if to talk Maria down. “I wasn’t thinking, I’m sorry.”

Maria realises she’s gripping her cutlery rigidly, as if they were weapons, and lets her hands go loose, looking back to her food.

 

The tense silence that follows is interrupted after a small while, by Carol’s thoughtful hum.

 

“It does have a cruise mode, though,” She muses, as if the thought had just come to her whimsically. “We could go on the weekend. Visit New York. Paris. Japan.”

 

Maria gives her an unimpressed look for undermining her authority as the responsible parent, but secretly the prospect had her reeling. She didn’t let it show on her face.

 

“Does that mean you’re staying?” Monica asks, and her voice was uneasy in a way that meant she wasn’t trying to let her hopefulness be too obvious. Maria feels her expression soften, reminded that it had been hard on both of them, Carol leaving again. Monica had never been one to ask for much; asking for this meant a lot.

 

Carol meets Maria’s eye, as though asking her permission again, as if she thought she had more right to whisk them off into space with her than to ask if she could stay the night.

 

As far as Maria was concerned, she could stay forever.

 

“Of course she’s staying,” Maria says, her voice casual in a way that brooked no argument. She stood with her plate. “Me and Aunty Carol have a lot to talk about.”

 

Carol looks a little mutinous at the idea, her eyes glinting in the same way they used to when she was chastised by her superior officers back in training camp. She seemed to recognise she was in enough trouble already, however, and lowers her gaze in assent.

 

Maria nods, satisfied, and takes her empty plate to the sink.

 

She’d just started washing up when Carol comes in with her and Monica’s plates, coming up beside her to gently nudge her out of the way with her hip.

 

Maria gives her an annoyed glance, and she’s about to tell her to get out of her kitchen, _she’s still mad at her dammit_ \- but Carol gives her a soft look, and the harsh words get caught on her tongue.

 

“You cook, I clean, remember?” Carol prompts, as if they did this every day, like they used to.

 

Maria feels herself relent, allowing Carol to take the dish from her at the sink. She leans against the counter, drying her hands on a dishtowel, and watches Carol work.

 

She’d done the same when she’d come back the first time, when she barely remembered anything at all, as if it were muscle memory. Maria supposes if anything were to be ingrained in that head of hers, it’d be those damned Southern manners.

 

“We really do need to have that talk, you know,” Maria muses, quietly in the space between them.

 

Carol doesn’t look up from what she’s doing, but she hums in acknowledgement.

 

“I know.”

 

She sounds worn out at the prospect, weary. As if she could face down the horrors of the universe, but this, here - a conversation with Maria in the hazy evening light of her kitchen - that was too much.

 

“Are you afraid?” Maria asks, watching the tense line of her shoulders.

 

“Not afraid,” Carol says slowly, as if getting a feel for the right words. “Apprehensive, maybe.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I don’t know how much of what I remember is real or,” She gives herself pause, as though working herself up to say something significant. “Or something I want to be real.”

Maria watches the subtle changes play across her face, a small crease forming between her brow.

 

“What difference does it make?”

 

Carol looks up at her then, pausing half way through placing the plates on the drying rack. She looks pensive, unsure of how to explain herself. She never had been good with words.

 

“It makes a difference,” She settles on, looking away again and finishes with the plates. “There’s things that I want that I don’t even know if I’m allowed to ask for.”

 

Maria feels the air shift with the admission, something electrically charged. _Ask for it_ , she thinks, desperately, feeling equidistant over some boundary between them, _Ask for anything, I’ll give you everything I have left._

 

Instead, she offers Carol the dishtowel to dry her hands, meets her eye when she takes it.

 

She tries working up the courage to say it, but she loses her nerve at the last second, and all that comes out is, “Where did Mon go?”

 

Maria feels the moment break between them, like a too taut thread snapping under the weight.

 

Carol settles back into her easy façade, stepping away to lean against the counter.

 

“Oh, I gave her the keys to the space cruiser,” She shrugs, looking unbothered.

 

Then she sees Maria’s appalled expression and breaks character, snorting an amused noise.

 

“She’s in her room,” She assures her, “I said I’d come read her a story after her mom told me off in the kitchen.”

 

“You realise she’s old enough to read to herself now,” Maria chastises lightly, too exhausted to put much heat behind it.

 

“I want to,” Carol tells her, sounding fond and a little forlorn. “It’s something I remember doing. Something I’ve missed doing.”

 

Maria feels something give in her chest.

 

“Better not keep her waiting, then,” Maria finds herself saying, voice soft. She wonders how many more times she was going to try and put her walls up just to have Carol fold them down like sheets of paper.

 

“Does that mean I get away with not being told off?” Carol throws a mischievous glance over her shoulder once she pushes off from the counter, making her way over to the stairs.

 

“Oh, no,” She gives her an unimpressed look. “I still want a word with you. You’re gonna come down and show me that ship of yours when you’re done.”

 

Carol turns to look at her at the foot of the stairs, raising an intrigued eyebrow at her.

 

“Yes, ma’am,” She assents, with a little salute, before taking the stairs two at a time.

 

Maria shakes her head, fond and exasperated.

 

 _What a cruel joke_ , she thinks to herself, as she starts putting the dishes and cutlery away. _Near 7 years, and I’m still so in love that it aches._

 

She slumps onto the couch when she’s done, still lost in thought.

 

How long would it take to fade? If it hadn’t by now, would it ever? What would Carol have to do for her to give it up? Leave forever?

 

Maria groans, lets her head fall back against the cushions. Part of her almost wishes she would, and then at least it would be out of her hands. She wouldn’t have to sit on the porch, unable to sleep, desperately waiting like some abandoned dog if she knew for certain she was never coming back.

 

She could just get on with it, and let the knowledge turn her bitter. Let her lost love make her jaded, and stronger for it, and she could raise her kid in peace.

 

Deep down, she knew she wished for something softer.

 

If she listened hard enough, she could hear Carol reading her daughter a bedtime story.

 

She didn’t want to hear it; knew it would only make this harder. Make it worse when she left again. But she listened anyway, let the soft murmur wash over her like warm water, letting it turn her soft.

 

She wouldn’t have a hope in hell of denying Carol anything now. If she came down those stairs and kissed her, she would wait another 6 years, she’d wait forever. She’d take anything she could get, a phone call once a year, a postcard a decade, a single letter for the rest of her days, pressed flowers in the envelope, perfume on the paper.

 

She thought of women waiting for their husbands to return from some faraway war, had promised herself she’d never become one of them. The thought made her ache.

 

 _Now look at me_ , she mused, but the thought was fleeting, blurred around the edges.

 

She felt the gentle tug of sleep find her, her eyes slipping closed at the thought of Carol kissing her again, so softly it could almost make her cry. The dark slipped in after, and Maria found she had no strength left but to give in.

 

* * *

 

When she woke, it was to morning light, pouring like buttery silk through the sheer curtains of her room. She blinked herself awake, disorientated but well-rested, having slept better than she had in months.

 

She stretches a little, looks about the room, and slowly realises she was sleeping on the wrong side of the bed. Carol’s side, untouched for years.

 

 _Carol_ , she thinks, her name striking and sharp in her mind, and jerks upright. _Carol was here._

 

She tears back the covers and stands up so quickly she feels dizzy, staggers towards the landing. She steadies herself against the wall, and then the bannister, hurrying downstairs.

 

Had she already left? Had she even visited at all? Had Maria imagined it, from hoping for so long, desperately wanting her to come home?

 

She shakes her head at the idea, distraught for even thinking it, and stumbles blearily into the kitchen.

 

The breath she takes at the sight of her almost hurts. She’s standing, barefoot, in her kitchen, cooking eggs and bacon on the stove. She glances over her shoulder at the noise, and flashes a smile.

 

“You hungry?”

 

Maria’s body moves of its own volition, over the kitchen tiles, and her arms go around her waist before she can think better of it. She buries her face into Carol’s messy morning curls, the space when her collar meets her shoulder, and breathes her in.

 

“I thought you left,” She mumbles, like a little kid still muddled from sleep. “I thought you were gone again.”

 

It takes her a couple of minutes to realise Carol had gone rigid, barely allowing herself to breathe. Maria lets go as if she’d burned her, takes a step back, anxiously tucking her hair behind her ears.

 

“Sorry, I’m - ” She clears her throat, feeling a small curl of dread at the fact that Carol still hadn’t turned to face her. “Still half-asleep.”

 

The excuse is lame even to her own ears, the inflection in her voice falling flat. She looks away from Carol’s tense shoulders, sees the clock on the wall and realises how late it was.

 

“Where’s Monica?” She asks, the shock of it waking her up fully. “Is she still asleep? She’s going to be so late - ”

 

“She had cereal for breakfast,” Carol tells her, calmly flipping the bacon. “I packed her lunchbox, made sure she had her books and walked her to the bus stop.”

 

Maria stares a little, taking that all in with a small breath. She leans against the counter, feeling the building sense of panic wash out of her.

 

Carol finally looks over her shoulder, a softly affectionate expression on her face.

 

“Figured you needed a break,” She hums, taking two plates out of the cupboard. “You looked exhausted.”

 

Maria creases her brow, remembering.

 

“I fell asleep on the couch yesterday,” She recalls slowly, a confused tone creeping into her voice.

 

“I carried you to your room,” Carol shrugs, turning back to plate up the food. “I could pretend it was a fireman lift to preserve your dignity, but really it was more of a bridal carry.”

 

Maria raises an eyebrow at her when she passes her her plate, but Carol just smirks and nudges her in the direction of the small breakfast table by the bay windows.

 

“I remember you like pepper and paprika with your eggs,” Carol tells her, coming over with her own plate and cutlery for them both. Her voice holds a hint of uncertainty when she adds, “I think?”

 

Maria watches her squeeze barbecue sauce all over her own eggs, and huffs an amused noise.

 

“That’s right,” She affirms, and Carol looks relieved.

 

“Thank God,” She breathes, passing Maria her cutlery. “Cause I put a ton in.”

 

“You still like that abomination you call breakfast, I see.” Maria laughs, a little disgusted. “Barbecue sauce? Really?”

 

Carol just makes a satisfied groan around a mouthful, nodding unabashed. “So good,” She croons, looking blissful. “I’ve been craving this for _months_. Do you know what it’s like to have a craving for something you can’t even remember exists?”

 

Maria makes another amused hum, digging into her own eggs. They are seasoned to perfection, and she barely resists the urge to lean across the table and kiss her for it.

 

“What else do you remember?” Maria asks, keeping her voice as casual as she could. She knows they had to have it out sooner or later, this nebulous feeling they’d both been skirting around the second Carol had returned.

 

 _Do you remember loving me?_ Maria doesn’t ask, _And if you do, what made you stop?_

 

“I told you, that’s a broad question,” Carol deflects, not meeting her eyes. “There’s lots I remember, and think I remember. You’ll have to be a little more specific.”

 

 _Please_ , Maria thinks. _Tell me, I need to know how to turn it off._

 

“Start with the basics,” She says, instead, voice steady. “How old was Monica when you left?”

 

“She was 5,” Carol relents, and the reminder makes a little flash of hurt pass over her face. “She could barely tie her shoelaces. She was learning phonetics in school, basic arithmetic. I used to help her with her homework at the dinner table.”

 

“Good,” Maria nods, encouraging. “That’s all real.”

 

“She wanted to be an astronaut when she grew up.” Carol started to look disinterested in her food, and Maria realised the topic was upsetting her too much.

 

“She still does,” She says softly, feeling a pang of empathy. She doesn’t know if she could cope with not being around when Monica grew up. She decides changing the topic is the best course of action. “Alright, where was our favourite place to hang out?”

 

Carol lifts her gaze a little,expression softening.

 

“Pancho’s,” She says, smiling shyly like a little kid knowing they were being humoured with easy questions.“They played crappy rock music and we loved it. We put so many quarters in that duke box it probably helped fund the place.”

 

Maria smiles back at her, remembering.

 

“Remember when they replaced that old pinball machine - ”

 

“And we stayed up all night trying to make an unbeatable high score - ”

 

“And the next day some kid beat it and we nearly cried?”

 

Carol laughs, hearty and sincere and Maria can’t help but join in. The reminisce some more about the trouble they used to get into, bouncing ideas off each other until they’d long finished breakfast and their eyes were light with mirth.

 

Maria pushes back her seat when the laughter had petered into chuckles, picking up their plates and gesturing for Carol to stay seated when she makes a move to get up.

 

“You cook, I clean, remember?” She echoes, smiling at the amused glint of annoyance in Carol’s eyes.

 

She washes up whilst an easy quiet settles over them. Carol had her chin propped up on her hand, gazing out of the window. Her hair is smushed from sleep at the back of her head, and Maria finds herself smiling before a thought occurs to her.

 

“Where did you sleep last night?” She asks, wiping the suds off the plate with a dishtowel.

 

“I took the couch,” Carol muses, watching some birds settle onto the grass outside. “I couldn’t remember where my old room was, and I didn’t want to snoop.”

 

Maria clears her throat, a little awkwardly.

 

“We,” She says, haltingly, drawing a blank. “Turned it into a supply closet.”

 

Carol turns to give her an uncertain look, clearly picking up on Maria’s unease.

 

“Right,” She nods slowly, as if trying to graft that into her memory in a way that would fit. “Makes sense.”

 

She turns away again, back to the birds, and Maria tries to prevent the energy between them from becoming stilted.

 

“Can you remember when we met?” She asks, hoping to return back to talking about Carol’s memories. She rounds the island to sit across from her again, watches Carol’s profile crease in concentration.

 

“We…met in the barracks.” She answers slowly, as though each word were coming to her like fragments from a dream. “It was my first day, and I was scared stiff but too stubborn to show it.”

 

Maria hadn’t expected her to recall this much, she thought Carol would reply with a simple _we met in training camp_ , like she always used to when someone asked how they knew each other.

 

“You were sat on your bunk, tying your bootlaces and you looked up at me,” Her eyes look distant, enraptured by the memory of it, and then a smile blooms over her face like the sun blossoming over the ridge of the horizon. “And you said ‘Kid, you’re gonna need to fix that hair.’”

 

Maria chuckles under her breath, a little startled she remembered such a detail. She remembers a skinny little blond kid blocking out the sun in the barrack doorway, her wavy hair in disarray around her face. She had looked like a small animal trying to make itself look bigger.

 

“You helped me brush it straight, tie it back out of my face,” Carol goes on, shaking her head as if fondly exasperated at her younger self. “I remember looking up at you wrangling my hair into place, a hair tie between your teeth. I probably fell in love with you right then and there.”

 

Maria feels her smile slip, heart shuddering in her chest; sickeningly like she’d leant too far back on two legs of a chair. She sees Carol’s eyes go wide when she realises what she’d said, gaze flickering to Maria’s.

 

She sees her own fear reflected back at her from Carol’s face, and then Carol was scrambling to stand up, gets some space between them. It looked like her body was on autopilot, pushing the chair in as if that would barricade Maria from her.

 

She takes an unsteady step back, running a nervous hand through her hair.

 

“I mean,” She gestures a little, looking panicked. “I admired you a lot and - I didn’t mean - ”

 

Maria stands, body moving like it always did without her permission, towards her, inevitably. Carol was still talking desperately, trying to explain it away, but Maria had stopped listening.

 

She cups her cheek when she reaches her, and Carol goes still, silent in shock. Maria looks into each of her eyes, just once, to gage the look of fear. Then, she leans in and kisses her, closes her eyes and feels the ache in her chest build to a fever pitch before breaking, dissipating, clearing like fog across a lake.

 

When she pulls back, Carol looks stricken, breaths coming out panicked and short, eyes barely daring to blink.

 

“You weren’t supposed to know,” Carol says, voice barely a whisper. She sounded shocked, and lost. “I was supposed to keep it secret, you weren’t supposed to find out - ”

 

Maria brushes her thumb across her cheek, creases her brow in concern. She keeps her voice soft when she asks,“What are you talking about?”

 

“I loved you,” She says it all in one outward breath, as if she can barely keep it in. “I love you. But I was supposed to hide it, or something bad would happen, I can’t remember why - ”

 

Maria can barely keep up with what she was saying. All she could hear were the words _I love you, I love you_ \- over and over until she felt it saturate into the very marrow of her bones.

 

It dawns on her slowly - _keeping it hidden -_ and she feels her chest clench when she finally realises what Carol meant.

 

“Carol,” Maria hushes, trying to calm her down. She looked near tears. “ _We_ had to hide it. You and me.”

 

Confusion and hurt seem to flash over Carol’s face at once, “Why?”

 

“Because some people wouldn’t understand.” She brushes Carol’s hair away from her face, meeting her eye. “But none of that matters right now.”

 

“I thought you’d hate me,” Carol admits, and tears streak perfectly down her face to meet at the middle at her throat. “I thought we wouldn’t be friends anymore, if you knew.”

 

Maria nods, soothing her, drying her cheeks with her sleeve. “We used to think that, before we told each other,” She gently leads her to the couch in the next room,guides her to sit down beside her. “We used to be terrified, do you remember that?”

 

Carol nods, trying to calm her hitched breathing, stubbornly scrubbing at her cheeks.

 

“You must have gotten your wires crossed somewhere,” Maria says, almost to herself, pulling Carol’s hands into her lap to hold so she stopped rubbing her cheeks ruddy. “All this time, I thought you just didn’t want to remember.”

 

Carol shakes her head, looking distraught, “I did, I tried so hard, I wanted so badly for it to be real - ”

 

“I know,” Maria reassures her, squeezing her hands. “I know that now.”

 

Carol looks like she might cry again, all the cocksure pretense gone, so Maria pulls her towards her, lets Carol bury her face into her throat.

 

Carol’s shoulders shake, and Maria strokes her hair, presses a kiss to her temple.

 

“I held your hand when you walked me home one day, remember?” Maria reminds her, softly, letting Carol hide her face. “You kissed me on the back porch. We stayed up outside all night talking and fell asleep on the steps.”

 

“I thought that wasn’t real,” Carol breathes out, her voice quiet. “I thought I wanted you so badly I made it up in my head.”

 

Maria closes her eyes at that, feels the hurt echo through her. All this time she’d been mourning some lost love, and Carol hadn’t even known it was something she was allowed to ask for.

 

Carol pulls back, eyes hemmed in red. She searches Maria’s expression, as though looking for fault lines, some sign that she was being lied to - as if she thought her mind was fabricating this too. “Do you still - ?”

 

“I never stopped,” Maria tells her, knowing what the question would be before she even spoke it aloud. Now in the wake of everything, she sees no reason to lie. “Not once.”

 

Something seems to fall away, some last line of defense, and Carol folds, brings her hands to Maria’s face, kisses her like Maria had wanted to be kissed since she knew Carol was still alive.

 

Her cheeks were wet, pressed against her own, her lips tasted like salt. Maria didn’t even realise it was from her own tears until Carol kissed the edge of her eyelids, the bridge of her cheeks, before claiming her mouth again.

 

“I missed you,” Maria promises, between chaste presses of their lips, hands brushing reverent across skin. “I tried to pretend like I didn’t - it hurt that you didn’t remember - I tried to act like it didn’t matter - ”

 

Carol kisses her and it feels like an apology, heartfelt and repentant. Maria feels herself give into it; content to lie back and let Carol kiss her forever.

 

* * *

 

“Doesn’t look like any cockpit I’ve been in before,” Maria tells her archly, leaning against the bridge-way of the hangar.

 

Forever had to take a rain check, as soon as Maria remembered there was a whole alien starship parked in her back yard. Carol had been less than pleased that it interrupted their long-time-coming heartfelt reunion, but Maria was already halfway to the backdoor.

 

Now, she stood in the entryway of the cockpit, surveying the strange glyphic writings over the panelling, humming a dull blue with some kind of power source.

 

“Well, it’s from a star system that invented the wheel a little differently to Earth, so forgive the primitive hyperdrive core capable of warp speed.” Carol retorts, a little tartly. Clearly, she was still sulking about earlier.

 

Maria huffs at her, amused. She comes to stand next to the pilot seat, where Carol was sitting, and reaches forward to curl a lock of blonde hair around her finger.

 

Carol looks up at her, trying very hard not to look adoring. She was failing rather miserably.

 

Affection between them was out of practice, still a little tentative. But Maria was learning to allow herself her impulses, now that everything between them had been lain out on the table.

 

On the walk from the back porch to the ship, Maria’s hand had slipped into hers, and it felt easy, instinctive, like muscle memory. The fact that it had shut Carol’s complaining up was an added bonus.

 

“Can you even fly this thing?” Maria gives her a doubtful look, running her hand over the hull.

 

“I can fly anything this side of the Praxius Quadrant,” Carol scoffs, clearly offended.

 

Maria lifts an eyebrow, thinks, _why couldn’t I have fallen in love with some boring Southern gentleman?_

 

“That’d be impressive if I knew what the hell it was,” Maria tells her, fondly, cupping her face. “I’m half convinced you just made it up on the spot.”

 

Carol smiles at her teasing tone, takes it as a challenge, “I could take you there,” She says, voice taking on that childish wonder again, gently taking Maria’s wrists in her hands to get her attention, “Show you.”

 

Maria goes still, feeling something akin to dread curl in her stomach, inexplicable.

 

“You know I can’t,” She looks away, slipping her wrists free to cross her arms defensively across her chest, perching on the edge of the control panel.

 

“Why not?” Carol appeals, voice lightly exasperated. Maria levels her a weary look.

 

“We have a life here, Carol,” She sighs, feeling Carol’s endless naivety wear her patience. “Monica has got friends here. She’s doing well at school, I can’t just uproot everything to go see the stars with you.”

 

“Who said anything about uprooting anything?” Carol argues, looking bewildered, not understanding why Maria was getting impatient with her. “We’d be back before dinner.”

 

Maria shakes her head in quiet disbelief.

 

“You’re impossible,” She tells her, looking skyward for strength. The foreign ceiling offers no solace. She feels like she’s being crushed by it.

 

“I just want to show it to you,” Carol pleads, sounding lost in her own fantasy world. It makes Maria grit her teeth. “There’s whole galaxies out there you don’t even know exists - ”

 

“I don’t need any of that!” Maria cuts in, feeling the dread blur into something more vicious. “You think I want to see all the things you’re leaving us for?”

 

Carol looks stunned, shocked still. Her voice comes out hurt when she says; “Maria - ”

 

“You’ve barely been here a day, and all you can talk about is leaving us again,” Maria declares, defiant, staring Carol down and daring her to deny it.

 

"That wasn’t what I - ”

 

“You should just go, then. If you want to so badly - just leave.” Maria doesn’t even let her defend herself, just takes off down the gangway, stalks back into the house, seething, and slams the door in her wake.

 

* * *

 

When Carol doesn’t immediately come after her, Maria feels the anger bleed back into dread, and then sickening panic. She slides to the floor in front of the couch, feels her hands start to shake.

 

 _What if she’s gone?_ She feels the thought threaten to eat her alive, feels sick to her stomach. _What if she never comes back?_

 

_What if she’d travelled lightyears to come home, and she’d just sent her away again, for good?_

 

It’s nearing half an hour before Maria hears the kitchen screen door open and shut again, and she forces herself to breathe, get it under control.

 

 _Of course she wouldn’t leave,_ Maria thinks to herself, bitterly scrubbing her face dry of tears _, She’s too stubborn to leave well enough alone._

 

She comes striding into the living room, with some hunk of metal in her hand, all tangled up in wires and blue sparks. She doesn’t even glance at Maria, just sets the piece of machinery in front of the TV.

 

“What the hell is that.” Maria says, flatly, a little miffed that her voice comes out slightly shaky from the near panic attack.

 

“It’s the radio, from the ship.” Carol tells her, as if that were obvious, and ducks behind the TV with a look of determination and a pair of wire strippers. “Talos is gonna kill me, but frankly I’m far more scared of you right now.”

 

Maria doesn’t quite know how to reply to that, but the thought leaves her when a loud shock of static makes her jump. Anger quickly finds her again.

 

“Woman, if you break my TV - ”

 

“Just hang on,” Carol interrupts her, sounding unconcerned at the warning, trying to concentrate. She fiddles about a bit more, and Maria’s hope for the TV remaining intact slowly dwindles to nothing.

 

After some time, Carol emerges, looking rather pleased with herself. The device on the TV stand flickers to life when Carol jostles it a little, before settling on a staticky projected image of Carol, like a digital rendition of a portrait bust from a museum.

 

“It’s a communicator, see?” She turns to show Maria how she was speaking into the device connected to her wrist, with the image from the projector relaying her talking. “It connects up to my wrist-navigator.”

 

Maria stares, openly intrigued, forgetting her earlier anger in exchange for an expression of awe.

 

Carol was mumbling to herself, muttering about some alien terminology and turns of phrase that Maria couldn’t parse. All she knew was that she was complaining again.

 

“Signal might be a little patchy, cause Earth tech is crappy, but - there, look.”

 

Carol points to her projected self, which has finally taken on some clarity, and Maria watches as it mouths the words _I love you._

 

Maria huffs a humourless laugh, looks away. She wasn’t going to forgive just like that, not even if the projection pulled out some cliché flowers and a box of chocolates.

 

“We can use it to speak to each other,” Carol explains, tentatively as though she knew she were on thin ice. “When I’m away.”

 

Maria closes her eyes at that, feels the pain show clearly on her face, unable to keep it at bay.

 

 _When I’m away,_ She says, but all Maria hears is, _When I go away again. Like you knew I would. When I leave you and Monica for the stars._

 

“Listen,” Carol calls to her, voice pleading. Maria feels her hands come to cup her cheeks, and she opens her eyes, finds them blurred with tears. “Please listen,” Carol begs again.

 

Maria looks into her eyes, feels spiteful and aching, and tries to convey all the ways this was hurting her. From the look on Carol’s face, it had worked.

 

Carol swallows, looking like she knew she had Maria’s begrudging attention for a fleeting moment, and had it until she’d said her piece, and then it was up to Maria to decide if it was worthy or not.

 

She keeps her eyes on hers when she speaks, voice sincere. Maria feels her hands tremble where they hold her face.

 

“I spent years of my life waking up not knowing what was missing from me, what I’d lost, ” Carol tells her, looking into each of her eyes to show her she meant every word. "It was always you. I didn’t know that back then, but I know it now. You think I’d leave you willingly? You think there’s anything out there worth more than this?”

 

Maria feels the tears spill down her cheeks, unfettered, like rivers racing toward the sea. Carol brushes them away, kisses her forehead as if dispelling a bad dream.

 

“There is _nothing_ out there I want more than you.” She promises, ardently, as if she thought there was a chance Maria might not believe her. Her expression turns regretful, pained, and Maria knew she spoke nothing but the truth.

 

“But there’s people, out there,” Carol tries, desperate for Maria to understand. “There’s people who need me. I can’t sit here and do nothing.”

 

Maria feels herself weaken, unable to stay vigilant in the face of Carol’s steadfast belief. How could she ask her to change who she was? This stubborn drive to do what was right was why she fell in love with her.

 

“I want to return to you, whenever I can, if you’ll let me,” Carol tells her, and there’s apprehension in her tone, like she was offering up everything she had left and she thought Maria would take it all and make her leave anyway. “When my work is done, I want to come home to you.”

 

Maria draws a breath, hears the way it shakes. She searches Carol’s face, knowing she’d already lost.

 

“Will you let me?” Carol asks, desperately, and Maria feels it break something inside her like a floodgate.

 

 _“You and your goddamn hero complex - ”_ Maria mutters under her breath, bittersweet. She surges forward, wraps her arms around her, nods against her shoulder. “Always come home to me. Always.”

 

Carol lets out a breath, like she’d been holding it, paralysed. She buries her face into her neck, reverent, pulls her closer and just breathes.

 

“I hope hero work pays well,” Maria tells her, after a small amicable silence. “Cause you can bet your ass you’re buying me a new TV.”

 

Carol laughs, near breathless, and the sound is spirited and infectious in a way that made Maria secret a smile away into her shoulder.

 

 _You’re lucky I love you_ , she thinks, fond and heartsick, and holds on tight.

 

* * *

 

“How are we going to tell Monica?” Carol asks, whilst helping Maria prepare dinner. Maria levelled her a look from where she was peeling vegetables, wholly unimpressed.

 

“How are _we_ going to tell Monica?” She repeats, with mock emphasis. “Oh honey, no. That’s all on you.”

 

Carol tilts her head back and groans like an infant, which Maria finds endlessly amusing. She tucks her chin into her chest to hide her smile, focuses on dicing the carrots.

 

“What if she gives me the eyes, Maria?” Carol complains, sounding distraught. “I’ll never be able to leave Earth again if she gives me the eyes.”

 

“Should have thought of that before you decided to become guard dog of the Universe,” Maria hums, merciless. “Besides,” She says, sliding up beside her and relinquishing the vegetables to thefrying pan. “I’m not above fighting dirty to keep you home with me.”

 

Maria leans in to give her a kiss on the cheek, but Carol catches her around the waist before she can, pulls her close. Her gaze passes over her face, appreciative, from her eyelashes down to her lips and back up to meet her eye. Maria feels her cheeks heat at the attention, unused to being appraised so openly, and Carol leans in.

 

“Mom!”

 

Maria bites her lip at Carol’s look of frustration, trying not to let the amusement show on her face.

 

They step apart from each other, a little reluctantly, just in time for Monica to come traipsing into the kitchen.

 

“You left the door on the latch again,” She complains, casting her backpack up onto the island with little consideration for it’s contents. “What if someone breaks in?”

 

“Yeah, no kidding,” Carol grumbles, fussing about the stove a little begrudgingly. “We should invest in a deadbolt.”

 

Maria disguises her bubble of laughter by clearing her throat, and addresses Monica when she speaks next.

 

“Why don’t you get Aunty Carol to help with that Math assignment you got last week?” She glances at Carol as she says it, just to catch the look of indignant shock across her face. “She told me she has something she wants to talk to you about.”

 

Monica seems rather taken by the idea, and comes over to take Carol by the wrist to lead her over to the dining table. Carol gives Maria a betrayed look.

 

“You’re a traitor,” Carol whispers venomously as she’s pulled passed her. She twists a little in Monica’s grip to glare at her over her shoulder. “This is mutiny.”

 

Maria huffs, amused, and turns back to preparing the stir fry, shaking her head. She goes about preparing dinner whilst Carol dutifully goes over Monica’s homework with her.

 

Their quiet bickering about correct Math formulas turns to white noise for a little while, with Maria fussing about seasoning. She adds in sesame seeds and slices of beef steak as she hums to herself, before the sound of Carol awkwardly clearing her throat draws her attention.

 

 _This should be good_ , she thinks to herself, amusedly searing the beef.

 

“So your mom and I have been thinking,” Carol begins, a little staccato, as if reciting directly from a cliché family sitcom. Maria finds it more than a little endearing. “And I - ”

 

“You’re leaving again.” Monica surmises, and Maria is a little shocked by the blasé tone of her voice. She leans back a little to peak round the doorway and sees Monica at the table, head down whilst she writes. Had she picked up that nonchalant tough love from her?

 

“Well, I - ”

 

“Can I come with you?” Monica interrupts again, still not looking up from her work, voice steady.

 

Maria sees Carol blink a few times, clearly a little sidetracked by this.

 

“Well,” She muses, as if considering the possibility, “We’d have to sedate your mother - ”

 

“Hey!” Maria admonishes, miffed. “I can still hear you.”

 

Carol looks up at her through the doorway, flashes a small sheepish smile, before turning back to Monica.

 

“You see, the thing is, kiddo,” Carol tries, softly. “Someone’s gotta hold down the forte while I’m gone.”

 

Monica looks up at her then, and Maria swallows a little at the hurt on her face. She’d definitely gotten the look of abandonment from her, that was for sure.

 

“And I don’t trust your mom to do it,” Carol continues, trying to salvage the easy tone. “She can’t even remember to lock the door.”

 

It gets a small amused sound from Monica, a little stilted.

 

“Every insult is one less piece of meat on your plate,” Maria warns, mutinously, and it makes Monica laugh a little more.

 

“I take that as a threat ,” Carol retorts, indignant. “Everyone knows the only point of a stir fry is the meat.”

 

“I’ll get a nutritious meal in you if it kills me, Danvers,” Maria calls back, and it’s partly to remind Carol there was no leaving the table unless she ate her vegetables, but it was mostly to cheer Monica up.

 

Monica offers a small smile for it, so Maria takes it as a win. She turns back to dinner, sets about plating it up.

 

By the time she makes it to the table, the ambiance was a little uneasy. Maria wasn’t going to let it ruin dinner, so she strokes a hand down Monica’s curls when she sets her plate down.

 

“If she takes too long coming home, we’ll go get her, Mon.” She promises, placatingly petting her hair and smiling at Carol, as if daring her to dispute it.

 

“I’ll be back before you know it, ” Carol reassures, sounding a little wary of Maria’s expression as she snags a piece of meat from her plate with her fork. “But your mom’s gonna have to save up a bit of money for a rocket if she wants to come get me in space.”

 

“Oh, you’re leaving the ship here,” Maria tells her, casually cool, coming to sit across from her at the table.

 

A look of bewilderment crosses Carol’s face.

 

“What do you mean I’m leaving the ship here?” She disputes, confusion creasing her brow. “The Aerian colony is 8 days away, where am I supposed to sleep?”

 

Maria shrugs, unconcerned. “Get one of your space buddies to pick you up,” She suggests, taking a bite out of her food. From the corner of her eye, she winks at Monica, who was loving this.

 

“They’re an endangered species, Maria, they’re not a taxi service - ”

 

“Well, they owe you one after 7 months.” She counters, before turning to Monica to ask her how her food was, effectively ignoring Carol. Monica smiles big, nods happily, clearly getting as much entertainment from teasing Carol as Maria was.

 

“You don’t even know how to fly the damn thing!” Carol splutters, throwing up her hands in emphasis.

 

Maria levels her a look then, imperious, “Give me a week and I’ll run rings around you in it.”

 

Carol sits with her mouth opening and closing around words she must think better of before saying aloud, looking utterly stumped. Finally, she shuts her mouth with a click.

 

“Sold,” Carol settles on, looking bewildered, defeated, “To the scary lady at the dinner table.”

 

Monica laughs, and it’s a real laugh, easy and light and carefree. Maria gives Carol a small smile across the table, and Carol can do little but look adoringly at them both.

 

Dinner passes with a much more amicable air after that, as Monica tells them all about her day, voice animated and clear. Maria watches Carol looking at Monica as she talks, see’s the easy love on her face, open and affectionate, and it’s then that she knows without a shadow of doubt that Carol would always come home to them.

 

They’re tidying up in the kitchen when Maria hears her give a sigh of relief, tension easing from her shoulders.

 

“That went pretty well, right?” Carol asks, sounding pretty pleased with herself. “I think I’m getting the hang of this whole parenting thing.”

 

Maria refrains from rolling her eyes, presses a kiss to her shoulder as she passes by to put the plates away in the cupboard.

 

“Oh, I wouldn’t breathe out just yet, baby,” She tells her, softly fond and a little teasing. “You still haven’t told her about the TV.”

 

The resounding thunk that Carol’s head makes when she hits it agains the cabinet above the kitchen counter makes Maria laugh until her belly aches.

 

 _This_ , she thinks, finally, blessedly happy, taking Carol’s hands and pulling her close, kissing her soundly, _I could wait forever for this._

 

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> .
> 
> .
> 
> .
> 
> Thank you for reading! I know nothing of Louisiana, cooking or parenting so I apologise for any inaccuracies. Sleep safe knowing that if the Russos do no deliver a happy CarolMaria ending in Endgame, I will write it myself.
> 
> Please feel free to kudos or comment <3


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